


Gift

by tiedyeflag



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Birthdays, Family, awkward dad spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedyeflag/pseuds/tiedyeflag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, Spy swallows his pride and seeks Scout for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

**** Scout’s eyes fluttered open from his slumber, and then he gasped at his dark surroundings. He could only make out silhouettes of old crates scattered about, ugly curtains over a small window, and a cheap plastic table in front of him. The table matched the chair he uncomfortably sat in. A stale scent wafted up his nose with dust. 

“Ah...ah-CHOO!”

“Gesundheit.”

“Than--” Scout paused with his finger frozen in the midst of scratching his nose. That low voice came from directly in front of him. A voice with a french accent.

_ Click! _

An overhead light flicked on, its harsh light blinding Scout. When his eyes adjusted to the spotlight, he groaned. There was no mistaking the lanky figure in a red suit with a gloved hand still on the light switch.

“Oh goody,” Scout whined. “The last person in the world I wanna see.”

“Likewise,” Spy pulled out a chair and sat down. He planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlaced hands. 

His lips parted to speak, but Scout’s mouth was faster. “‘Fore we do anythin’, how do I know you’re not BLU spy?”

Spy’s face didn’t flinch as he offered his left hand out in the middle of the table. Scout poked and prodded at Spy’s forearm like an unidentified object. No mirages of a disguise flickered over the pinstriped fabric. Before Spy could retreat his hand, however, Scout took the opportunity to slam his fist on the back of Spy’s hand.

“OW!” Spy jerked his hand back, mentally cursing himself for such an undignified outburst. Meanwhile Scout just smirked and flung his hand over the back of his chair.

“Okay, now we know you’re not BLU,” Scout said with snicker.

Spy gritted his teeth silently.

“What, cat got your tongue? So can I leave or wh-”

“Don’t even think about it, boy,” Spy growled. “I’m the one asking questions today.”

“Shoot.”

For a split second Spy considered using his revolver to take Scout’s words literally, but instead inhaled deeply and pressed his fingertips together. “You know what next week is, correct?”

The cockiness from Scout’s face and posture vanished. He sat up straight and bit his lip as he thought. Spy indulged in the silence; it was rare to see Scout thinking before speaking. Finally, Scout whispered as if uttering a sacred phrase, “You mean my ma’s birthday?”

“Oui.”

“You...wanna know what day it is?”

“I  _ know _ when her birthday is, Scout.” Spy flipped open his disguise kit for a cigarette. “It’s next Sunday. Am I wrong?”

“N...no.” Scout narrowed his eyes. “But then what do you want?”

“If you’d keep that massive mouth of yours shut long enough for me to even think, then perhaps I could answer that.”

“Oh yeah?” Scout hunched over. “Well, says the guy who--who rudely interrupted my nap and started interrogating me!”

“Not only does that have no relevance to what I was saying, but absolutely nothing you said is correct.” He pointedly flicked his lighter, and soon the smell of tobacco filled the vicinity. “One, I did not ‘interrupt’ your nap. I carried you here while you slept like a baby and you woke up on your own. Two,” his eyes darkened, “this is far cry from an interrogation.”

“Well, excuuuuuse me,  _ monsieur Spy _ ,” Scout said in a fake french accent. “But I’ve got places to be, and stuff to do, and that’s none of your business.”

“I am a Spy, it’s my  _ job _ to kno--” Spy cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Me neither, so I’m just gonna--” Scout stood and pushed the chair out, making it screech against the concrete floor. 

“One question.”

“Huh?”

“Let me ask one question before you go. Please.”

Scout blinked as if making sure he was seeing Spy correctly. Cold gaze, collected posture--he looked and acted like usual, but an edge to his voice was amiss. Eloquent as normal but not as...firm. 

“Are…” Scout crooked his head. “Are you  _ begging? _ ”

Spy sighed, smoke curling out from his lips with his patience. “If I say yes, then will you answer my question?”

“Mmmmmaybe,” Scout’s grin revealed his trademark buck teeth, glistening with confidence. Spy resisted the urge to roll his eyes; no doubt Scout would brag about it to the rest of the team later.

“Very well,” Spy plucked his cigarette from his mouth, blew out the remaining smoke, and cleared his throat. After an uncharacteristic hesitation, he spoke. “Do you know if she’d like anything in particular for her birthday?”

Scout didn’t flinch, but Spy could tell the gears turned rapidly in Scout’s head as he processed this. Whether it was because Scout didn’t know the answer--which Spy prayed not be true--or because he was considering  _ why _ he should answer.

“You’re asking me what my ma’ wants for her birthday?” Scout’s voice held an edge of suspicion.

“Correct.”

“...Why?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“Whadya mean, ‘none of my concern’?” Scout barked. “Here I am, sitting in a dark room with the guy I hate  _ and _ is seeing my ma’, and he’s asking me what to get for her birthday, and did I mention I hate his  _ fuckin’ _ guts?!”

For a long moment, Spy sat still, the only movement from the smoke floating from his cigarette. Then, in a fluid motion, stood with his hands neatly clasped behind his back. 

“You’ve mentioned your aforementioned loathing of myself on numerous occasions and I am well aware--”

“Fuck y--” Scout slammed his palms on the table, causing it to flip in his direction. Spy jumped back while the table bashed against Scout’s face with a  _ smack! _ It bounced off and wobbled back until it was standing on all four legs again. By the time it settled, Scout had cupped his hands over the lower half of his face.

“Oooow, my nose!” Scout whined in a honky voice. “My beautiful, berfect nose!”

“Are you--”

Scout lowered his hands and yelled, “Go to hell, Sby!!” His eyes shone an angry, icy blue while fresh crimson blood ran from his quickly bruising nose. With a grunt, he whipped his eyes around for an exit. 

“Scout.”

He ceased his feverish movements to stare straight ahead. In his rage, he didn’t see Spy walk towards the door, or hear him unlock and open it. He stood next to it, tapping the ash off the tip of his cigarette.

If Scout had a clearer mind, he would have wondered why Spy willingly showed him the exit, and without insult.

But instead Scout marched past Spy while flipping his middle finger dangerously close to Spy’s hooked nose. Once gone, Spy massaged the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Merde.”

* * *

 

With a sharp  _ psst! _ the can of BONK! opened, letting free a quick burst of carbonated gas. Scout pressed his lips against the opening and gulped down the sugary liquid. His nose no longer ached thanks to a quick visit to Medic--a broken nose was nothing to the medigun. He sat with his legs dangling off the edge of one of the many buildings on the battlefield. When a battle wasn’t in session, it reminded Scout of a ghost town from a wild west flick. The arid air held only the gentle shuffling of an occasional tumbleweed and the shifting of New Mexican dust. 

Scout drained the can’s contents with a gasp and wiped his mouth. The setting sun reflected off the cheap aluminum. He curiously turned it in his hands, studying the dimensions and texture. An optimistic gleam flashed across his eyes, but then disappeared as his hand fell to his side as if in dejection.

“Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap _ crap _ ,” He mumbled before crumpling the can and pitching it as hard as he could.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually footsteps from behind startled him from his thoughts. Soft footsteps, stealthy by habit. On a busy day they were easily missed, but elsewhere you could identify them if you strained your ears. 

Scout turned and saw Spy approaching. He stopped when he made eye contact with Scout.

“Whaddya want?” Scout said.

“You, for one thing. It’s almost dinner time and your turn to cook.” Spy tilted his head. “Running away from cooking duty now?”

“None of your beeswax.”

“Have it your way, then,” Spy turned. “Brood out here while your entire team starves to death.”

“...Spy.”

He stopped at the meek tone of voice.

“What  _ are _ you getting for my ma’s birthday?”

Scout waited for an uncomfortably long silence. He could only see Spy’s backside, but he could still see Spy’s hands fidgeting in his pockets as if looking for the answer in there.

“I don’t know,” Spy finally croaked.

Scout’s eyes widened. “Say what?”

“I said, I don’t know,” Spy stiffened.

“You mean the whole reason you did all that shit back there was because you don’t know what to get her?”

“...Yes,” Spy hesitantly walked closer and sat next to Scout. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and into his lap.

“Well, what’d you do last time? You definitely didn’t drag me out and pull all that crap last year.”

“I usually send her flowers.”

“So...you wanna shake it up this time?”

Spy’s hands curled slightly into loose fists. He inhaled and held his breath for a pensive pause before sighing. “...I’m not the best with gifts.”

“...Seriously? Like, last minute kind of bad?”

“No. Besides flowers, my gifts are…” Spy swallowed--clearly he still had some pride left to choke down. “...terrible.” He hissed the last word as if it was painful to have roll off his fluid tongue.

Spy glared at his expensive shoes as he waited for a response. Scout’s reply came in the form of snickering. “Y-Y-You?! You, Mr. Seduce-me and Romance-o-lot, are bad at  _ gifts?! _ ” He slapped his knee and howled with laughter. As Scout snorted at the absurdity, Spy looked away, the faint blush blending in with his mask. He fought the urge to bite his lip, make his embarrassment more apparent.

“O-Okay, I’m good now,” Scout wheezed and wiped a tear from his eye. “So mind telling me some of your bad gi--” 

“That is not important,” Spy snapped.

“Alright, chill out,” Scout waved his hands in a placating manner that contrasted with the mischief in his face. “But what is important is that  _ you _ ,” he poked at Spy’s shoulder, “need  _ my _ help.”

“Correct.” The confession left a sour taste in his mouth.

“So in a way you could say…” Scout’s eyes narrowed. “I’m better than you?”

“I--” Spy bit back a curse--he saw where this was going, and his stomach sank at the realization. “You’re going to make me say it over the speakers, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was thinking at the dinner table, but now that you mention it…” Scout stroked his chin like a beard.

Spy’s eyes rolled back so hard his head rolled with them in exasperation. He fought back the bile of pride creeping up the back of his throat. Clenching his fists, he all but snarled, “Fine.”

“Yes!!” Scout punched the air.

“So what  _ are _ you getting for your mother?”

As quick as blowing out a candle, Scout’s celebrated elation turned into sudden terror. His fingers fiddled while his mouth struggled to form an answer.

“Well--I--Uh, y’see--It’s--Like a…” 

Spy’s mouth slackened. Had he had a cigarette, it would have fallen into his lap. “You haven’t gotten her anything yet?”

“No!! I  _ did _ have something!”

“Something?”

“A--a pencil holder out of bullet cartridges.”

“...You’re joking.”

“At least it’s more  _ useful _ than some flowers!” Scout barked. “And it was handmade! That counts as something!!”

“...Point taken.” Spy reluctantly shrugged. “So what happened to this...gift?” It took all his willpower not to call it some insulting title.

“I...I…” Scout bit his lip. “I dropped it.”

“And it broke?”

“It’s not my fault glue takes so fucking long to dry!”

“Couldn’t you just glue it back together? It sounds like a childish craft like that could be easily fixed,” Spy scoffed.

“Not if they’re cooked to a crisp.” Scout fidgeted with the bandages around his wrists. “Long story short, I...dropped it into a fire.”

Spy thought for a moment. “Did you consider making a new one? Surely the battlefield is full of cartridges.”

“Yeah, but most of ‘em are covered in blood an’ shit, and no matter what I do I can’t wash it off! It takes me forever to find halfway decent ones!” Scout sighed. “Now I’m stuck tryna’ come up with another present.” He paused. “I was thinking of making something outta BONK! cans maybe...”

“I think we can do better.”

“Like, make a hat outta--Wait, what?” Scout looked at Spy as if he announced he just laid an egg. “ _ We? _ ”

“Yes,” Spy nearly grimaced. “It pains me to admit, but...I’m afraid if either of us wants to give your mother a decent present, then we’ll have to…” he coughed, “...work together.”

Scout’s mouth was as wide as his eyes in shock. Then a skeptical look flashed across his face. “Didja hit your head on the way here?”

“No, and I know how preposterous it sounds.”

“So you’re serious?”

“I’m seriously questioning my sanity at this very moment.” He readjusted his cufflinks to elegantly hide his unease. “But think about it; I have the money and resources, and you have...a good sense at gifts, for the lack of a better word.”

“Guess you could say I have the  _ gift? _ ” Scout smirked.

“...”

“‘Cause, like, I’m good with gifts, like ‘gifted’--”

“Pathetic puns aside, I...I propose that we collaborate on your mother’s birthday present.” Spy looked Scout dead in the eye and extended his outstretched hand towards Scout.

Scout’s teeth dug into his lower lip as he stared at the poised hand in front of him. Each finger flared out subtly in a habitual show of grace, encased in fine black leather. The hand would usually curl back at the very thought of making contact with the barest hint of filth. Yet now it reached for Scout’s hand, covered in sweaty bandages with dirty nails. It silently begged for Scout to take it, to agree.

Scout’s hand clasped around Spy’s quickly and gave it a hurried shake. “Jus’ so we’re clear, I’m only doing this to check you’re not a BLU spy.” He let go. “And...for my ma’. But I still hate your guts.”

“You can hate me later,” Spy got to his feet. “If my memory serves correctly, a clumsy little boy is due for cooking duty tonight and should be on their way back to base.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“No, simply a man who does not wish to witness the wrath of several hungry men.”

Scout huffed. “Fine, but I’m still making you say I’m better in front of everyone tonight!” He pointed at Spy’s chest, which heaved in yet another sigh.

“Best get this over with, I suppose…”

* * *

 

Baby blue wrapping paper covered the box, tied with a peach pink ribbon. It sat in Scout’s hands behind his back until Spy gently jabbed his elbow into Scout’s side. His hands then swung to his front with the present. He held it out proudly and exclaimed, “Happy birthday, Ma’!”

Scout’s mother gasped and curled her fingers around it, bringing it to her lap. She examined the dimensions, then pressed her ear to the side as she shook it, listening to the ruffle of tissue paper and something solid.

“C’mon, Ma’, open it!!”

Spy placed a hand on Scout’s shoulder. “Patience, Scout. A gentleman lets a lady take her time.”

“I swear if I have to hear ‘gentleman’ one more...”

Scout’s voice tailed off at the sound of his mother’s laughter. Her strawberry red lips framed her pearly teeth in a wide grin.

“What’s so funny?” Scout asked.

“Oh--it just warms my heart to see you two almost get along under the same roof.” She brushed a lock of ebony black hair behind her ear. Then her eyes trailed along the present’s ribbon until she came to the bow. Tucked neatly under it was the corner of a name tag. She tugged it out for the world to see. In golden ink was “To: Scout’s Mother”. She chuckled; she was well aware of the running gag at the RED base of referring to her as simply Scout’s mother. Her lips parted at what followed the “From:”, however. Two names, each in entirely different handwriting. “Scout” in the neatest chicken scratch she’s ever seen, and “Spy” in beautiful, curly cursive. 

And between their names was an “&”.

“Is...is this from both of you?” Her eyes darted between the two men.

“Yyyyyeah…” Scout smiled awkwardly. “But see, the gift was my idea, since  _ this _ guy--” He nudged Spy’s arm, “--is lousy with gifts.”

Spy coughed. “Ah, but this young man was in dire need of assistance, for his efforts--” He stopped when he noticed Scout’s Ma laughing once again, but differently. Her head was down and her shoulders shook gently. A sound, almost akin to a sob, escaped her lips between laughs.

“Mon cheri?”

“Ma’? You crying?!” Scout raked his hands through his hair, once combed back for the special occasion.

Instead of replying, she snaked her arms around each man’s neck and pulled them into a hug. She nested her face between their shoulders. Both men froze for a split second before hugging her back.

“Relax, I--I’m just happy, that’s all,” She sobbed cheerfully. “I got  _ exactly _ what I wanted for my birthday.”

“And...what’s that?” Scout asked, bewildered.

“Seeing you two spend some quality time together.”

No sooner had she released Scout and Spy did they pull back with shock all over their faces.

“But--but you told me he knew what you wanted for your birthday!” Scout pointed at Spy. “I was gonna ask him but he sure as hell didn’t tell me that!”

“What?” Spy blinked. “You were going to ask  _ me? _ ”

“Well, I was, ‘till you pulled that interrogation stunt.”

“I did it because she told me to ask  _ you! _ ”

“What?!”

Both grew quiet as the same realization percolated into their minds. Slowly, they turned towards Scout’s mother, who coyly twirled a black curl around her finger while humming contently. Her mischievous smile matched the gleam in her eyes.

The gleam evaporated from her face at the sound of clattering dishes from another room, followed by anxious voices. She glanced over her shoulder, stood up, and placed a hand on each man’s shoulder.

“Be right back, boys,” She pecked each on the cheek. Then she briskly walked towards the noise while half yelling, “David, you better not drop my birthday cake this year! And you boys better not be playing with the streamers again!!”

Once she was gone, Spy ran a hand over his head. “Mon dieu,” He finally whispered.

“No kiddin’,” Scout added. “She got us good.”

“One of the reasons I love her, though…” The corners of Spy’s mouth turned up faintly.

“I still don’t like you seeing my Ma’ though.”

“One of the reasons I hate you.”

“Yeah, hate you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I blame my friend eli for sharing the idea that Spy is terrible at gifts, then the idea wouldn't leave my brain alone. Also, we always need more awkward dad spy in our lives. I always love seeing suave, smooth characters like him in silly situations like this. Makes them more human AND is hilarious XD
> 
> The entire time while I wrote this I worked extra hard to keep Spy in character--and constantly worrying in the back of my mind that I was butchering his character. Hope I did the sneaky baguette man justice tho. Most of my favs are polar opposites of my personality so why do I fav them so hard???


End file.
